The Gourd You Give
by LadyDivine91
Summary: It's just another day at work for Kurt when a handsome man bursts through the door and begs Kurt for a pumpkin. Klaine. Kurt H. Blaine A.


_**A/N: This is a re-write. Warning for mention of illness.**_

"Help me! Quick! I need a pumpkin!"

The words fire out so quickly from the man's mouth that his request is finished before the bells over the door stop jingling. Kurt looks up from the issue of _Vogue_ open on the counter he's sitting behind and straight into the eyes of the most desperate man he's ever seen – harried for certain, curls that have been gelled down within an inch of their life breaking free around his hairline, hazel eyes shimmering from the cold, his cheeks flushed from running (Kurt assumes, since he's panting like a tired dog). Plus, the door has a brand new dent from where the man slammed into it before he realized it was a pull door and not a push.

"Uh … okay." Kurt puts a worn business card into the binding of his magazine to mark his spot, then closes it to handle his manic customer. "You _do_ realize you've just entered a costume shop, though. Not a supermarket."

"I know." The man nods vigorously, taking a deep breath. "I need a pumpkin _costume_."

Kurt sits up straighter, intrigued by this man's request, as well as his adorable, slightly antiquated clothing choices - a sweater vest, a button-down, a bowtie, and a vintage U. S. Navy peacoat. Paired with his dapper good looks, the man pulls it together nicely. Kurt's eyes zero in on his brightly-colored shoes and go wide. Where on earth did he find a pair of Moods of Norway suede wingtips in _pink_? They're sold out _everywhere_! Kurt has to find a way to ask.

Kurt also can't help but notice the pride flag pin fixed to the collar of his coat - the new version with the brown and black stripes. Kurt grins.

His recent string of dull afternoons might finally be looking up.

"A pumpkin costume for _yourself_?" Kurt asks.

"No." The man shakes his head, a bashful smile splitting his lips. "For my little man, Andy."

"Oh," Kurt says, only minorly disappointed at the mention of a son. But children have never been a deal breaker for Kurt. He _loves_ children.

"He's six," the man explains, "and when his mom asked him what he wanted to be for Halloween, he said he wanted to be a pumpkin."

Okay, _wife_ is definitely a deal breaker, Kurt thinks, but he chuckles at the thought of a little boy, who Kurt imagines looks somewhat like this man – raven hair, possibly the same hazel eyes, and olive complexion, waddling around the streets of New York dressed as a giant, gap toothed Jack-O-Lantern.

"He doesn't even want to be a _Jack-O-Lantern_ ," the man grouses, stunning Kurt into wondering if he hadn't voiced that thought out loud. "A Jack-O-Lantern costume I can find. He wants to be a regular, boring old pumpkin."

"How adorable," Kurt says, giving the man a flirty smile when he knows he shouldn't. He can't seem to help himself. Something about the way this man is freaking out over trying to find his little boy a pumpkin costume is too endearing.

"I tried to talk him out of it. For _weeks_ actually. I've bought him every costume under the sun that I thought he might like – Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, Fluttershy …"

"Fluttershy?"

The man chuckles, but waves the topic off. "That's a _whole_ other story entirely."

 _Maybe for another time?_ The words almost make their way out of Kurt's mouth before he mentally slaps himself in the face.

Married. With a _kid_ married. _Gear down, Hummel._

"Anyway, he won't budge. And his mom, she's a really awesome seamstress, but she's been sick …" He pauses and swallows after the word _sick_ , and Kurt feels his heart double thump. He's using the same inflection Kurt remembers his father using when he would tell people that Kurt's mother was _sick_. It leads Kurt to believe that 'sick' might be a vague reference to something more devastating than the flu that's been going around.

"Oh," Kurt says. "I'm sorry to hear that."

The man nods, pinching his lips between his teeth to keep from going into it. "It's been kind of a tough time for the little guy. So I thought, you know, if he wants to be a pumpkin so badly, let him be a pumpkin. Only, I can't sew to save my life."

"Did you try papier mache?"

"Unfortunately, yes." The man looks subconsciously at his hands. Kurt peeks and sees bits of dried plaster embedded underneath his nails. "But I thought that a professional costume shop might have something like a really kick-ass pumpkin. I've checked online, but I've had no luck. I even tried calling some of the performing arts schools, but nobody has one. I guess nobody ever plays a vegetable in a school play anymore."

"I guess not," Kurt says sympathetically. He looks at the distraught man and sighs. Kurt feels for him. He really does. He seems like a nice guy – sweet, kind, and caring to a fault, racing around New York City, trying to fulfill a little boy's wish. Even with his bittersweet story, he's a nice change from the customers this shop usually gets – cosplayers, Ren Faire folk, and, during Halloween, teenagers looking for whatever sexy comic book character they can get their hands on. In the close to four years since Kurt's been part-timing here, it's been a while since he's had anyone come in asking for a _child's_ costume. They did outfit the Atlantic Children's Playhouse performance of _Cinderella_ a year back, but the pumpkin from that performance was six feet tall, and got trampled in the last act.

"I'm sorry," Kurt says, "but we don't have any pumpkin costumes here."

The man stares at him blankly, lips parting an inch as if he's about to argue, unwilling to accept what Kurt is saying.

"How about a squash?" he asks sadly.

Kurt's heart breaks a sliver. "We don't have any fruits or vegetables … or food costumes in general. I'm so sorry."

The man sighs, looking about a foot shorter when he's done.

"Well, this was the last store on the list. I can't believe in all of New York City …" The man taps the counter with his hand, like putting a period at the end of his sentence, stopping himself before he unloads his grief at this situation on Kurt. "Thank you, anyway." He smiles weakly, then turns to go out the way he barreled in.

Kurt watches him leave and knows he can't let him. So, maybe the most compassionate (and probably the most handsome) man Kurt's met in ages is married, but that's not the issue, dammit! His kid still deserves to be a pumpkin!

"Wait," Kurt calls out before the man's hand reaches the door. "You know, I'm majoring in Musical Theater at NYADA …" The man turns back slowly, that hopeful look returning to his face. "I make a lot of my own costumes. Maybe I can help you."

"Do you … do you really think so?" he asks, walking back to the counter.

"Yes! If I can make a Joan of Arc suit of armor in a day, I'm sure I can whip up a pumpkin. I mean, how difficult can it really be?"

"Oh my God!" The man jumps up and down, doing a tiny dance. "Are you serious?" Kurt nods, chuckling at the man's ridiculous jig. "You're a life saver! That would be … that would be incredible!" But then he stops dancing, and his face falls again. "Oh, but I'm afraid I probably can't pay you what you're worth."

Kurt bites his lower lip. _What he's worth_. He's been so jaded by fair-weather friends since he's moved to New York, he didn't know there were people out there who worried about things like that anymore.

"Meh," Kurt says. "I'll take a ton of pictures and put them in my portfolio for school. Chalk it up as work experience. Just pay for the material, and the labor's on me."

"Oh, I couldn't." The man shakes his head to decline Kurt's generosity, but with the widest smile growing on his face. "That's too much."

"I insist. I need the extra credit points," Kurt lies. "You'd be doing me a favor."

That seems to sit okay with the man because he stops shaking his head.

"Well, can I at least buy you dinner while you're toiling over construction of this gourd?"

"Absolutely," Kurt says without thinking. Then his mind skids to a stop. "Uh, will your … _wife_ be joining us?" _Oh, please don't be a cheater_ , he prays in his head. _I'll lose all faith in humanity if you turn out to be a cheater_.

"My … wife?" The man's brow wrinkles, and he looks as confused as Kurt feels. "Oh no! No no no! Andy's mom is my _sister-in-law,_ not my _wife_. Andy is my _nephew_."

"Oh!"

"No, no. I'm _single_." The man emphasizes the word _single_. "My boyfriend and I separated over a year ago. I've been on my own ever since."

"Oh. Well, in that case, my name's Kurt." He sticks out his hand, and the man takes it.

"Blaine." He holds Kurt's hand for a moment after he shakes it, giving it a gentle squeeze that makes Kurt's toes tingle. "So, can we consider tonight a _date_ then?"

"Absolutely. Meet me here tonight at seven," Kurt says, "and we'll turn your _nephew_ into a pumpkin."


End file.
